A Test of Will
Ron's heart pounded as the guard led him through the dim, winding corridors of The House. He cast a glance back at the door he'd just left, where he'd sat before Mother and Father in that dark, imposing room. He'd answered their questions as best he could, but every moment had felt like he was being weighed and measured, judged by their cold, scrutinizing eyes. And now, he was being taken... outside?
The guard didn't say a word, his grip firm on Ron's arm as they passed through a set of heavy doors and emerged into a sprawling courtyard. The sunlight here was harsh, revealing a stark, dusty training ground where groups of servants ran drills, lifting heavy stones, practicing combat exercises, and running laps around the perimeter. Their faces were stoic and focused, their movements sharp and precise.
Ron's stomach twisted. "Where are we?" he muttered, trying to mask the fear rising in his chest.
The guard didn't answer. Instead, he pulled Ron forward toward a burly man with a scar across his jaw and piercing, assessing eyes. The man had an air of authority that seemed to ripple off him in waves, and the servants around him avoided his gaze, keeping their heads down as they worked.
"Master Jacob," the guard called, catching the man's attention. "Mother and Father ordered training for this one."
Master Jacob turned his gaze to Ron, his expression indifferent. He raised an eyebrow, as if taking in the sight of a nervous, wide-eyed young man with nothing but a thin layer of bravery shielding his fear.
"So, you're the new one." Jacob's voice was low, with a gravelly edge. "Well, Mother and Father's orders are orders. Get in line," he barked, pointing to a group of servants doing rigorous squats nearby. "Now."
Ron hesitated, feeling every muscle in his body tense. But Jacob's gaze bore down on him, and he knew he had no choice. Reluctantly, he walked over and fell into line with the others, his movements stiff as he tried to follow along.
The drills started immediately, with no time for questions or complaints. Push-ups, squats, sprints across the dusty yard, then lifting heavy weights he could barely hold steady. Each exercise felt like it was pushing him to his breaking point, and with every grueling minute, Ron's frustration grew.
What am I even doing here? he thought as he strained to lift a heavy stone, his arms burning. He looked around at the other servants, most of whom were focused and silent, their faces blank of any resistance. Ron couldn't understand it. How could they just... accept this? He clenched his teeth, anger and frustration bubbling up with every drill.
Hours passed, the sun moving steadily across the sky, and still, Master Jacob's commands echoed around the courtyard. "Faster! Again! If you're slowing down, you're failing!" Every time Ron's energy flagged, Jacob's voice would cut through his exhaustion, driving him to keep going.
By the time the exercises ended, Ron's muscles felt like lead, and every breath burned in his chest. He could barely keep himself upright as the servants were finally dismissed for the evening. The other servants fell into a quiet line, walking slowly but steadily toward a large, nondescript building on the other side of the courtyard. As exhausted as he was, Ron took a few quick steps to catch up, falling into line and glancing around to take in the details.
When they reached the building and stepped inside, Ron saw rows of wooden tables filled with servants, each sitting quietly and eating with the same disciplined silence that marked everything else here. The atmosphere was stifling, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the shuffling of feet.
Ron joined the line of servants waiting for food, his stomach growling. He was exhausted and starving, and despite everything, he just wanted a hot meal. When he finally reached the end of the line, a stern-faced woman handed him a tray with a metal cup, a slice of bread, and a plain bowl of thin stew.
Ron blinked at it, his frustration bubbling up. "Is this it?" he started to say, his voice louder than he intended. But before he could finish, the servant next to him elbowed him sharply in the ribs, muttering, "Keep quiet and move along."
Ron scowled, biting back a retort. But the pent-up irritation was too much; he spun around, ready to confront the servant. "Hey! What's your problem?"
Before Ron could make a scene, a guard stepped forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him roughly out of line. "Enough of that," the guard snapped, his voice cold and unyielding as he steered Ron away to a small table at the back of the hall, dropping him there unceremoniously before turning back to the line.
Ron sat there, still fuming, the stew and bread forgotten on the tray in front of him. This place is... twisted. He looked around, watching the others eat in that stony silence. He'd never been surrounded by so many people who seemed utterly... controlled, bound by some invisible force.
But as his stomach growled again, Ron realized he couldn't hold out any longer. He picked up his spoon and started eating, each bite sapping a little more of his energy. When he'd finished, he followed the other servants as they shuffled out of the dining hall, moving in the same quiet, orderly line. He didn't know where they were going, but at this point, he was too tired to care.
They made their way to a long, low building at the far edge of the courtyard, where the smell of dust and hay filled the air. Ron's heart sank as he took in the sight of the place—a barn-like structure with narrow, cell-like rooms partitioned off along both walls.
The guard who had escorted him earlier appeared again, placing a firm hand on Ron's shoulder and steering him into one of the small cells. The room was cramped, with just a narrow bed of rough blankets and straw, and a bucket in the corner. It was dark and cold, with nothing but bare stone walls around him.
"Get some rest," the guard said shortly. "Tomorrow will be harder." And with that, the guard closed the door, the sound of the lock turning echoing in the darkness.
Ron slumped onto the bed, anger burning hot in his chest. He'd had rough days before, but this was something different. This place didn't just demand obedience; it wanted to strip everything else away.
Lying there in the darkness, he couldn't help but think of Harry and Hermione, wondering where they were and if they were dealing with the same kind of punishment. And Harry—what was he doing? Did he even know what Ron was going through right now? He clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him. Why did we come here?
Before he could dwell on the thought, the lights in the barn went out, plunging the space into pitch-black silence. For a long moment, Ron lay there, alone with his thoughts, his mind churning with frustration and exhaustion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, knowing he would need every ounce of strength to face whatever tomorrow held.